The Ferbnessa Sketchbook
by karly05
Summary: Welcome to my new, open-ended home for random short stories and drabbles. These will mostly be F/V, but I'm sure other characters will show up as well. I plan to keep the ratings at K or K-plus.
1. 1: Dumb Luck

**A/N – I had so much fun doing "Vignettes a la Carte" (my random word drabbles), and I keep coming up with these little ideas, and sometimes I just feel the need to doodle a bit of Ferbnessa, so…**

**Welcome to The Ferbnessa Sketchbook, my open-ended home for random short stories and drabbles. It will probably be mostly F/V stuff, but other characters will likely turn up, as well. Again, my goal is to keep the rating on these to K+. **

**Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh own the characters and probably a lot of other stuff, too.**

**This first one came out longer than expected (of course), but I decided to keep it here in the Sketchbook rather than posting it as a separate story.**

Dumb Luck

Ferb Fletcher dug in the cooler, hands freezing as he shoved the melting ice cubes in every direction. There had to be something else in here, there simply had to be. Things had started out so promisingly, and now he was about to make an utter fool of himself. Of all the rotten luck!

It was Isabella who had suggested a picnic in the park. Ferb was fairly certain that her original plan had been for some alone time with Phineas, but, as usual, the whole gang had ended up involved. At some point after lunch, Ferb had wandered off on his own for a bit, when he had stumbled upon a wonderful surprise.

She was sitting under a tree, some distance away from him, headphones in her ears, scribbling in a small notebook that was propped on her knees. Ferb had stopped in his tracks, swept up in that same, sweet, scary rush of weakness that hit him every time he saw her. Mere words could not describe her attraction for him, or his reaction to it. Vanessa Doofenshmirtz simply defied explanation.

His feet had regained consciousness before his head and he had found himself walking in her direction. His logical, rational brain, usually the master of his actions, had pointed out that she was busy and probably would not appreciate being interrupted, but his heedless heart had pushed him forward, just a bit closer, until he could see the little furrow in her brow, and the pensive frown that pushed her rosy lips into a pout. With a sigh, she had stopped writing, and tipped her head back – and that was when their eyes had met.

Startled, Ferb had hesitated, shifting on his feet. He could clearly see the sequence of thoughts that shaped her expression: _Hm, some kid. With green hair? Hey, I know him!_ Then, before his eyes, her frown had relaxed into the hint of a smile, and she had plucked the headphone from one ear as she called out, "Hey, Ferb!"

She had laid aside her notebook and patted the grass beside her, removing the other headphone as he approached and sat down. They had talked – well, Vanessa had talked, mostly, which suited Ferb just fine. She had talked about having to spend the morning with her annoying father, about the music she was listening to, about how her mother had suggested she keep a journal to help deal with her 'teenage issues,' but so far it was just making her more irritated with everyone and everything. "Except you, Ferb," she had qualified, to his joy. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

Then, she had reached to take a drink from her water bottle and found it empty. Inspired, Ferb had held up a finger and said, "Wait here." Leaping to his feet, he had dashed back to the remains of the picnic he had left, exhilirated by the prospect of rendering some little service to the girl he adored.

And now, here he was, rummaging in the cooler, heart filling with despair as his hand met one rectangular paper carton after another. Juice boxes, nothing but juice boxes. And all of them apple at that, not even something marginally sophisticated, like mango, or strawberry kiwi. Ferb assessed his dilemma. He refused to go back to Vanessa empty-handed, but – a box of apple juice? It was something a child would drink. Of course, at ten, technically he was a child, but he didn't want to emphasize the point to _her_. Still, if he didn't get back to her quickly, she might get up and leave, and that was the worst prospect of all. So, with a grumble of resignation, Ferb grabbed a juice box and headed back to the tree.

Vanessa was still there, and she watched him approach. Without a word, he handed her the drink and sat down in the grass again. She looked at the box, and Ferb caught the curious arch of her brow before he lost courage and had to avert his eyes. He didn't want to see the expression of disdain that was certain to follow.

"Apple juice?" said Vanessa. "Are you serious?"

_Wrong choice, stupid choice,_ thought Ferb, still unable to face her. _Better to have come back with nothing._

He heard her rip the straw from the box and pop it in, then she said, "Ferb, how on earth did you know?"

Stunned, he cast his gaze on her to discover that she was slurping away, a happy smile blossoming around the straw between her lips. A trace of pink tinted her cheeks as she paused to confess, "My secret vice."

"Juice boxes?" he asked in disbelief. _Impossible…_

"Apple juice boxes," she clarified. "I know it's kind of a little kid thing – maybe that's why I still like them so much. It's like a comfort food, you know? Mom always keeps some in the fridge for me."

_Of course_, Ferb realized. The day he and Phineas had tracked down the Little Mary McGuffin doll – they had ended up at Vanessa's house, and her mother had offered them apple juice. At the time, Ferb had thought it odd that she happened to have the juice boxes on hand, although this was only a minor distraction from his overwhelming dread that Phineas was about to order him to "lean on" Vanessa's Mum. He had been so relieved to get out of there with at least some shred of dignity intact, it had never occurred to him that the cool young lady he admired might have a weakness for the sweet drink.

"Don't spread this around, ok?" Vanessa begged now, indicating the little box. "It could ruin my reputation."

She said this with a humorous glint in her eye, and Ferb smiled slightly as he shook his head in response. "Your secret is safe with me."

A rumble and hiss from up the street caught her attention, and she said, "Oh, here's my bus." Gathering her things, she got to her feet, and Ferb rose as well. Vanessa quickly drained the last of her juice and handed the empty box back to him. "Thanks, Ferb." Heading off to catch the bus, she looked back over her shoulder with a bright, lovely smile. "See you around!"

Ferb gave her a wave and watched her go. Apparently, his luck wasn't so bad after all.

THE END

**A/N – In "Finding Mary McGuffin," Charlene asks Detectives Phineas & Ferb, "Would you kids like some apple juice?" and gives them juice boxes. It seems like an odd thing for her to have on hand. Unless… Hence, the inspiration! Oh, and watch Ferb during that scene – and notice how fast he moves when Phineas says, "pack it up." I can just imagine him being petrified that he's going to embarrass himself in front of his Future Mother-In-Law.**


	2. 2: Ferb's Middle Name

**A/N – I've had my idea for Ferb's middle name for a while, and it finally prompted me to write this.**

Ferb's Middle Name

Vanessa Doofenshmirtz had known Ferb Fletcher for eight years. They had been a couple for two and a half of those years, and three days ago, he had moved in with her. She knew all of his vital statistics, the sizes of all of his clothing, his favorite brands of toothpaste and breakfast tea and hex bolts. She knew that he had read all of Candace's "Little House" books when he was six and still harbored a fondness for them, that he had a mole on his left shoulder blade, and that he still ate spray cheese straight out of the can. Vanessa knew things about Ferb that no one else knew, not even his family. But, after all this time, she still did not know his middle name.

She had asked him once, when he was twelve and she was graduating high school. Vanessa had hand-delivered to him one of her graduation announcements, and he had read out loud from it, "Vanessa Joy Doofenshmirtz. I didn't know your middle name was Joy," Ferb had remarked.

"That's because I hate it," she had told him, rolling her eyes. "Mom made me put it on the announcements, or I would have left it off."

"But, why?" Ferb had challenged. "It's very pretty. Vanessa Joy."

It did sound pretty, when he said it in his British accent, but she had explained, "When you're some weird, gloomy little kid who dresses in black, 'Joy' is just – well," she had sighed, "I never found the irony funny. Not the way some people did." Not wanting to expand on her Kindergarten memories, she had thrown the question out to him, "So, what's _your_ middle name, Ferb?"

He had been silent for more than a few seconds before he had given her a ruefully apologetic look and said, "Unfortunate."

"Well, _that's _an unusual middle name," Vanessa had joked. She had been inclined to tease him about how the real one couldn't be any more unusual than Ferbouche, and hey, she had told him hers, but his expression had made it clear that this was not a topic open for discussion, and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. That was the last time she had brought it up.

Now, Ferb was in the process of unpacking the boxes of his belongings that he had brought with him to the bungalow, and trying to figure out where to put everything. Vanessa had already been using the second bedroom as a study of sorts, and they had managed to squeeze in a desk and file cabinet for Ferb as well. As he was glancing through file folders, Vanessa spotted some paperwork bearing the name _Ferbouche E. Fletcher_, and this prompted her to speak.

"You know, Ferb, you never have told me what your middle name is."

He blinked at this, but did not look at her as he replied, "No. No, I haven't."

She wasn't giving up so easily this time. For crying out loud, considering all the intimate and sometimes embarrassing things they had discovered about each other in the course of their relationship, surely he could trust her with this one. "I promise not to laugh. Or make a face. Or ever bring it up again."

Ferb continued his work as if she hadn't spoken, but there was something in the tilt of his head that said he was considering her offer.

"You know I'm going to find out sooner or later," Vanessa pointed out. "I know it starts with an E. Can I guess?"

"Go right ahead," said Ferb, although he sounded doubtful that she would succeed.

Vanessa pondered where to begin. She had assumed that the name had to be something unusual, but maybe it was just something he didn't like, or had negative associations with, just as she disliked Joy. So, she started with the obvious.

"Edward. Edmund, Edgar…"

Ferb stopped her there. "If it was something like that, why wouldn't I use it and call myself 'Ed' instead of 'Ferb'?"

Vanessa knew the answer to this one. "Because Ferb sounds cooler."

With a thoughtful tip of his head, Ferb conceded this point.

She tried a different approach. "All right, what about… Elvis."

He gave a soft snort of amusement at this. "Then I really would sound cool."

This time, she was the one to agree. Following on from Elvis, she tried, "Elton, Ellington, Eliot…"

"No, no and no," said Ferb. Vanessa could see in his brief glance that he was actually starting to enjoy the game.

"How about Elmer?" she suggested. "Be vewy vewy quiet, I'm hunting wabbits."

Ferb regarded her attempt at the cartoon voice with a chuckle and said, "Well, that might be a bit embarrassing, but no."

"All right," she looked for a different angle. "What about… Eli? Elijah, Elisha, Ezekiel, Ezra…"

"No, it's not Biblical," said Ferb.

"Probably something British," she decided, and he didn't contradict her. She searched her brain for a literary reference, Shakespeare, or Dickens, or… "Wait, I've got it!" she exclaimed, suddenly convinced that she had the answer. "Ebenezer!"

Ferb grinned at this. "While that would be fairly dreadful – no."

Maybe it wasn't even a name, but a place. Something like… "Edinburgh? Eton? Epsom?"

"No, it is an actual human name. Not a place, or an animal, or anything such as that." This time, Ferb dug in one of the boxes and pulled out a sheaf of papers. It was flat, but at some time had been folded in thirds, like a letter, and he folded it back into that shape and held it up in his hand. "In the interest of not spending the rest of our lives on this…" He clearly was having fun with the game now, judging by the sly smile curling the edges of his mouth. "I'm giving you three more guesses. Then your first born child is mine."

"I should certainly hope so," Vanessa teased. "All right, Rumplestiltskin – and that wasn't a guess," she hastily clarified. "At least give me a clue. What's the second letter?"

"Same as your first initial."

"Hmm. E-V…" She considered her options. "Everhart?"

Ferb shook his head.

"Eviscerus?"

Ferb actually laughed out loud at this. "Oh, now you're just making things up. Come on, last guess," he prompted. "Make it a good one."

Something unfortunate, something unfortunate… She was completely stumped. The word that popped out of her mouth as a last resort was, "Evil?"

"What?" he scoffed at this in surprise. "That isn't even a name."

"Yes, it is," she defended herself. "Evel Knievel, remember?"

Ferb waved this off and said, "Time's up." Unfolding the paper, he handed it to her.

It was a copy of his adoption papers, from when he was four years old, and Linda Flynn-Fletcher had become his mother. Printed carefully, in her handwriting, was the name FERBOUCHE EVELYN FLETCHER.

"Evelyn?" Vanessa pronounced it the only way she knew how. "Were your parents expecting a girl?"

Ferb still had an awkward smile on his lips, but she saw him flinch at her remark, and she understood why he had kept the name such a secret. "It's not a girl's name. First off, it's pronounced _EEV_-lin. And it's a perfectly respectable English gentleman's name. A bit out of date, that's all."

"So, I take it this came from some Lord Evelyn Fletcher who invented the tea cozy or something?" she asked, thinking back to the story of Sir Ferbouche, from whom he had gotten his first name.

"Close," he admitted. "He was Rear Admiral Evelyn Wimpole of Queen Victoria's Royal Navy. From my grandmother's side of the family. And yes," he admitted, "her maiden name was Winnie Wimpole, so I really have no room to complain."

"Hmm," Vanessa pondered now, and gave it another try, pronouncing the name correctly this time. "Ferbouche Evelyn Fletcher. That's not so bad. It sounds kind of distinguished."

"Oh, very distinguished," he acknowledged, "for a century or two ago." Reclaiming his adoption papers from her, Ferb put them back in the file, and sighed. "I love my father, but sometimes I wish he weren't quite so fond of antiques."

THE END

**A/N – I first knew of "Evelyn" as a man's name from the character Lord Evelyn Oakley from the musical "Anything Goes." I've always thought of it as one of those great, "fussy, upper-class Englishman" names. My original idea of "what Ferb was short for" was that his full name was something like "Francis Evelyn Reginald Bruce Fletcher" and "Ferb" was derived from his initials. Of course, I ended up buying into the "Ferbooch" reference from "The Beak," but I liked the idea of keeping Evelyn as his middle name.**


	3. 3: Butterflies and Gumdrops

**A/N – And you think I've written Fluff before. Even my teeth hurt a little after this one, but I couldn't pass up the challenge. Thanks to BroadwayFanGirl91 for prompting me to write something involving Butterflies and Gumdrops.…**

Butterflies and Gumdrops

In the college town of Ackerton there was a quiet little neighborhood adjoining the State University campus, and in this quiet little neighborhood, on Vine Street between Athenian and Euclid, stood a tiny bungalow. Like most of the houses that surrounded it, the tiny bungalow was over ninety years old, but it carried the years well, thanks mainly to the recent facelift and fresh coat of paint supplied by the current occupants. After decades of bland beige or bare white, the old house was now decked out in a new coat of bronze green with vellum trim. The concrete porch and basement foundation had enjoyed a good power washing, the weathered single-car garage in back had been demolished and replaced by a new replica twice as wide, and the property had never looked better.

The mastermind behind these improvements was currently on his knees in front of the porch, trowel in hand, and a flat of zinnias on the ground beside him. He was a tall, slim young man, not yet twenty, with a distinctly square shape to his nose, and touseled hair in a striking shade of green. His name was Ferb Fletcher, and he was a student at the University – not in horticulture, but you might have thought he was, judging by the flower bed, lush with not only zinnias but dense marigolds and delicate cosmos, in a riot of yellows, ivories, oranges and magentas.

Ferb was sitting back on his heels for a breather when the screen door opened, and a young woman came out onto the porch. He looked up at her and smiled, for she outshone all the flowers with her beauty, and perfectly completed the scene. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was pulled back and fastened behind her neck, and she held a milk glass candy dish in one hand. Looking down at the green-haired gardener, she asked, "Is it on?"

"Fresh batteries this morning," he nodded, getting to his feet, "and set to Exclude." Bolted into the concrete porch column, behind the flower bed, was one of Ferb's own inventions. It appeared harmless enough, just a small, gray box the size of an electrical outlet, with a little dial and what looked like a shallow speaker cone protruding from the front. It was his Bee Excluder/Pacifier. His lady love was allergic to the stinging insects, but they were beneficial to the flowers, so he had come up with this compromise. When set to Exclude, it repelled the bees completely. When set to Pacify, it allowed them access to the flowers, but rendered them more docile. His patent was pending.

"Mmm, Vanessa, what have we here?" he remarked now in his delectable British accent as she descended the front steps.

She met him in the yard and offered the white, hobnailed dish. "Guess what's finally ready to eat," she smiled proudly. The bowl contained a mound of sugar-coated cubes in an array of colors even more varied than those of the flowers. "And, since you've managed to keep your fingers out of them for the past three days, you get the first one."

"I'm the guinea pig, am I?" said Ferb, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes," Vanessa wrinkled her nose at him cutely. "Yes, you are. The red is the cherry," she added, pointing out his favorite flavor.

Ferb raised his hand toward the dish, then realized, "Blast, I'm all dirty!"

Vanessa had the solution to this. "Open your mouth," she commanded, plucking a red cube from the pile and popping it in.

"Hmm," Ferb considered, chewing the sticky, sugary treat. "Delicious. I never thought of making home-made gumdrops. What other flavors do you have?"

Vanessa named them off, pointing at the various colors as she did so. "Grape, orange, cherry, lime, lemon, and strawberry. Maybe next time I'll go more exotic, but I thought I'd start with the basics."

Ferb requested a lemon one next, and gave this his seal of approval as well. "And you keep telling me you're not much of a cook," he scolded her.

"Candy making's more like chemistry than cooking," she protested, trying the lime. "Mmm, not to pat myself on the back, but these _are_ pretty good."

"What's the strawberry like?" Ferb hinted, and Vanessa fed him a pink gumdrop.

"Now you can go inside and wash your hands if you want any more," she decreed.

Ferb was ready for a break, and knelt to gather his tools. Crouched on the grass, he froze, and whispered, "Vanessa… look at this. Quietly," he breathed, as she laid her hand on his shoulder and knelt beside him. Amongst the marigolds, two butterflies were flitting. Their wings were orange and black, with black markings on the orange, and white spots against the black. "Painted ladies," Ferb whispered to her, then added, "I'll bet you don't know the scientific name."

Vanessa gave him a sidelong smile as she murmured, "I'll bet you're right."

"_Vanessa cardui_." Gently, he extended a hand toward the marigolds.

"No way," came her delighted whisper.

"Mm," Ferb gave the softest affirmative sound he could, staying as still as possible. Vanessa held her breath as one of the butterflies made a tentative approach, fluttered back around for another attempt, and landed lightly on Ferb's finger. Together, they watched in fascination as the delicate insect flexed its wings a few times, before flitting back to feed on the flowers.

Exhaling, Vanessa quietly said, "I wonder if they like gumdrops."

Ferb gave her a puzzled, _Are you kidding?_ look before her playful smile sank in and coaxed a smile out of him in return. "One way to find out," he replied, reaching for the candy. Vanessa instinctively pulled back the dish, but he chuckled, "The butterflies won't mind a little dirt." Carefully picking an orange one off the top so as not to soil the rest, he set it at the edge of the flower bed.

Using his shoulder for support, Vanessa got to her feet, and Ferb followed. With a last look at their garden guests, they climbed the porch steps, her arm looped through his. Pausing at the door, Vanessa fed her sweetheart one more cherry gumdrop, and he thanked her with a kiss on the cheek.

It was just another summer afternoon at the little bungalow on Vine Street.

THE END

**A/N – TRUE STORY – Back in the early 20th Century, Sears Roebuck sold build-it-yourself House Kits. I have a book that is a modern reproduction of the 1926 Catalog of Sears homes. When I started imagining the bungalow that college girl Vanessa was renting in Ackerton, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted it to look like, but I went through the Sears House catalog to pick out a specific model for reference. I found one that instantly made me say, "That's it!" – just a simple little thing with a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms and a bath. The Sears house models had names, like "The Avalon" or "The Lexington." Believe it or not, the model name of Vanessa's house is "The Olivia." I couldn't make that up! (If you do a Google Image Search for "Sears House Olivia," you can see it.)**

**Oh, and yeah, I was looking up butterflies to decide which to use, and when I saw the scientific name of the Painted Lady, that was it. Who knew?**


	4. 4: Vacation

Vacation

The Fletcher Family was gathered on one of the benches that lined the path toward Adventureland. It was late afternoon, and they had paused to treat themselves to a round of chocolate-coated ice cream bars shaped like the head of a famous Mouse. Mrs. Fletcher's ice cream was already devoured, and she was now gazing up at the Castle in front of her with a look of weary contentment, chocolate still smearing her mouth. A stroller was parked between her and her husband, and Mr. Fletcher was leaning over it. In one hand, he held a wooden stick with a last lump of vanilla ice cream on it, napkin cupped under it in his other hand in a valiant effort to catch the drips, as he shared the treat with his son. Victor Fletcher, aged 20 months, was wearing about half of his portion of Daddy's ice cream bar on his cheeks and hands. On the other side of her father, a young girl of seven was blissfully swinging her legs from the edge of the bench as she polished off her own ice cream. Like Mr. Fletcher's, her short, fluffy hair was an interesting shade of green, not too far off from that of the Kermit the Frog T-shirt she wore. When Kermit caught an eyeful of chocolate coating, Felicia Fletcher picked it off and popped it into her mouth before declaring, "Mum, I need a napkin!" Hopping off the bench, she darted around the stroller to her mother, then laughed as she noticed, "You need one, too! You're all chocolatey." Vanessa and Felicia cleaned up themselves and each other, as Ferb remarked, "Victor needs a bath." He passed the nearly-bare ice cream stick to his wife, who nibbled off the last bit of chocolate clinging to the handle before she put it in a napkin and added it to the bundle of empty wrappers and sticks. "Sweet Pea, take that to the trash, please," she handed the refuse to Felicia, who trotted to the nearest can.

Digging under the stroller, Vanessa took out some wet wipes and went to work on her Baby Boy. Victor was getting that little glower that said he was working himself up to be discontented about something, and she was fairly certain she knew of at least one thing that was bothering him. "I think I'm going to take him to the baby station," she glanced back over her shoulder toward Main Street. "He needs a change, and he could use a new shirt. Why don't you and Felicia go do a ride and meet me back here?"

Felicia jumped at this. "Can we, Dad?"

Ferb was on his feet, and ruffled her hair fondly as he answered, "Of course. Anything you want."

The moment those words began to leave his mouth, Vanessa's eyes flew to his face, and she winced ever so slightly. Ferb caught the look and knew, before the last 't' had crossed his lips, that he was sunk.

"Yesss!" Felicia exclaimed gleefully, reaching out for his hand.

Vanessa was smirking at him as she waited to see how he would worm his way out of this. Ferb went straight for the Big Guns: "Up for another go at Space Mountain?" he challenged, with a broad, encouraging grin. "Mum won't go on that, anyway," he pointed out, "so it's a good time to – "

"Nooo," Felicia shook her head at him with a knowing look of amusement.

"Mad Tea Party?" he countered.

"Oh, no," Vanessa interjected, "not when she's full of ice cream!"

Ferb gave her the look that said, _Vanessa, my love, you're not helping_, as he tried to turn this to his advantage. "Well, if Mum doesn't want us to do it, it must be good, come on!"

Felicia hopped on her toes as she giggled and tugged at him. "Noooo, Dad!" When he rolled his eyes and groaned, only half-playfully, his daughter reminded him, "You said we could go on anything."

"So I did," he gave in.

They all got up, and Vanessa took hold of the stroller. Felicia and Ferb headed off hand-in-hand toward the Castle, one heart filled with excitement and one with dread. Vanessa called after them in a voice dripping with cruel sweetness, "Have fun, you two! Don't forget to wave at the Platypuses!"

In a matter of minutes, Ferb Fletcher found himself seated in a long, low boat, his dear child beside him, all wide eyes and delighted smile as she gaped around herself. Well, the indulgent father supposed, it was a sacrifice worth making for her happiness. With a sigh and a little grin, Ferb surrendered as that song burrowed into his brain and set up shop there for a nice long stay.

_It's a world of laughter, a world of tears  
><em>_It's a world of hope and a world of fears  
><em>_There's so much that we share  
><em>_That it's time we're aware,  
><em>_It's a Small World After All…_

**A/N – I just got back from a fantastic vacation at Walt Disney World in Florida and felt like sending the Fletchers there. I really did sit on that bench on Tuesday afternoon and eat a Mickey Bar. And I actually like "Small World." (When you make the turn into the Australia section, there are 3 Platypuses right there! Hence Vanessa's "wave at the Platypuses" remark.) Felicia is wearing a Kermit the Frog shirt for a reason: On a freezing cold Sunday morning at Disney's Hollywood Studios, I went in search of the meet-and-greet for Phineas and Ferb. DHS has kind of a confusing layout, but I knew that once I could see Kermit above the Muppet attraction I was headed in the right direction, so I wanted to give Kermie a little shout-out. And yes, I met the Boys and got hugs and pictures! I also brought home a really cute Talking Ferb plushie.**


	5. 5: Patient

**A/N – Nearly everyone I know has had the crud lately, self included. So, I got inspired to make a contribution to the SickFic genre. Ferb & Vanessa belong to Povenmire & Marsh, and Jello belongs to – well, Jello, I guess.**

Patient

Vanessa woke in the night and found herself alone. Thinking nothing of it, she turned over, flipping her pillow to the other side before she settled down again. But when Ferb didn't slip back into bed after a minute or two, she rolled onto her back and listened. Sounded like he was in the kitchen. What was he doing?

She found him sitting at the kitchen table, the tea kettle warming on the stove. He was slumped with his forehead resting in his palm, but he looked up when she said, "What's going on?"

"I'm making tea." _What does it look like?_ was implied in his tone. His usually deep voice was another notch lower, and husky.

"You don't sound so good," Vanessa noted.

"It's nothing," said Ferb, waving her off. When she sat down opposite him, he insisted, "Just a scratchy throat."

"Mm-hm." When the kettle boiled, she got up to deal with it. Ferb tried to intercept her, but without much vigor, and she pointed him back to the chair. "Sit." He didn't have to be told twice. They had been living together for only about six months, but Vanessa was already becoming adept at the science of brewing a Ferb-approved cup of tea. Now, she fixed him a mug dosed with honey and lemon – Dr. Fletcher's Sure-Fire Cure-All he had called it when he had made the same for her when she had a cold. He gave her a thankful look when she set it on the table. She noticed his hands shaking slightly when he picked up the mug, and asked him, "Are you cold?"

He shook his head, blowing on the tea before he took a sip, then he reconsidered and said, "A little."

"Come back to bed," said Vanessa, reaching out for the mug. "Here, I'll carry that." Ferb muttered indistinctly in response to this, but followed her instructions. When he was sitting in bed, she felt his head, and he flinched at her touch.

"Your hands are cold."

"You're a little warm," she countered.

"I'm _fine_," he insisted grumpily.

"Well, drink your tea, and see if you can get back to sleep," said Vanessa, circling back to her side of the bed to crawl in.

"Yes, mother," muttered Ferb, clearing his throat gruffly.

In the morning, Vanessa was awakened by Ferb's coughing. He was sitting up on the side of the bed, and she could see his pajamas sticking to his back. When he heard her moving, he looked over his shoulder at her and said, "Urrghhh."

"You look awful," said Vanessa, sitting up.

"Thank you, darling," Ferb croaked, these words provoking another round of coughing.

"Want some more tea?" she offered, kicking off the covers.

"Mmf," said Ferb.

She interpreted this as, _yes, please, dearest, that would be lovely_ and went to start the kettle. "You'd better stay home today," she called back to him.

"I have clas_coughcoughhhhh – _classes," he protested.

"Yeah," said Vanessa, coming back into the bedroom, "and I'm sure everyone can hardly wait to catch whatever it is you've got."

"It's just a cold," he insisted. "Cuppa tea and some breakfast…" a pause to blow his nose "… I'll be right as rain." Ferb was still sitting on the bed up to this point, but now, as he got to his feet, Vanessa saw him hesitate, saw the little furrow come into his brow as his hands flickered out to steady himself.

"Are you…?" she began.

"Fine," he snapped, a bit brusquely, then started that hacking cough again until he had no choice but to sit back down.

"That's it. You are not leaving this house, mister." He gave no sign of listening to her as he began unbuttoning his pajama shirt, and Vanessa said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, you put that right back on."

"But, it's all sticky," Ferb complained, giving her a plaintive look as he peeled off the shirt. For crying out loud, thought Vanessa, those sad eyes and pouty lips made him look about five years old.

"Here," she helped him get it off and rolled it up in her hands. "Give me the pants, too. Then get in the shower." Vanessa fully expected some naughty grin or clever remark from him in response to this, but Ferb just gave a grunt and a sniff and a cough as he struggled out of his pajama trousers and shuffled away from the bed. She laid out some clean pajamas for him before she went back to the kitchen to finish his tea and make him some breakfast.

Eventually, Ferb came trudging out to the kitchen dressed in a T-shirt and worn khakis. He plopped down at the table, looked at his breakfast for a minute, and droned out, "I think I'd better stay home today."

"Hm, where did I hear that earlier?" said Vanessa. She gave him a smile, and an affectionate rub on the shoulder, though, as he dug into his scrambled eggs and toast. "Well, at least it's Friday; you won't miss much. Just take it easy. I have to go to work, but I'm going to see if I can get off early. Either way, I'll be home at lunch time; I'll bring you some soup and jello."

"Unh," Ferb acknowledged this. Vanessa got ready while he ate, and asked him before she left if he was going to be all right by himself. "Fine," he said, but less insistently than before. His forehead was still a bit warm to her touch, but she gave it a kiss and promised to be back later.

When she came home at lunch, he was snoring on the couch, a light blanket tossed across his legs. He stirred when she came through the room on her way to the kitchen, and mumbled hoarsely, "V'n'sssuh…?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked, although from his flushed face and bleary eyes, she had a pretty good idea.

"Plff," said Ferb, struggling to sit up, and making himself cough as he did so.

This time, when she felt his head, she exclaimed at once, "You're burning up."

"Urgh," was his answer to this.

Looking down upon his wretched form, Vanessa sighed. "I knew you should have gotten a flu shot."

"Nooo!" Ferb groaned pitifully. "No shot! Not – getting – shot…"

"Well, it's too late now," she informed him, with an exasperated shake of her head. "I brought you some medicine, and a fresh jar of MenthoRub," she indicated the grocery bag in her hand. "We'll see if this helps. Can you sit up?" she set down the bag to give him a hand, and got him into a more or less upright position on the couch. "Let me put these away, and we'll get you fixed up."

"Not. Taking. Shot," Ferb mumbled decisively.

"Nobody's giving you a shot," Vanessa tried to get through to him. "Just sit there. I'll be right back." Good grief! She knew Ferb had a thing about needles, but this was ridiculous. Next year, she was dragging him to get the stupid flu shot even if she had to hold his hand and buy him an ice cream cone afterward.

When she came back with the bottle of medicine, Ferb squinted at it and made a sulky face. "I don't like that kind."

"It's medicine; you're not supposed to like it," Vanessa informed him, pouring the liquid into the dosing cup.

"Couldn't you get the cherry flavor?"

"For crying out loud, Ferb, you're a grown man. You don't need cherry flavored cough syrup."

"But, that's vile," he glowered.

"It's Pharmacist Recommended," she countered, handing him the cup. "Just take it."

Ferb downed the thick brown stuff, twisting his mouth and scrunching his eyes in a great show of _ick-blech-yuck_. Vanessa had to chuckle at the fuss he was making. Maybe nineteen wasn't so grown up after all. "That's my big, brave boy," she cooed teasingly, taking the plastic cup from him. Exchanging it for the Mentho-Rub jar, she ordered, "Now, pull up your shirt." Again, the lack of a flirtatious response from him to this suggestion testified to just how sick he was, and Ferb simply closed his eyes and made a soft _rrrrr_ in his throat as Vanessa massaged the ointment into his chest. She helped him pull the T-shirt back down and said, "Want some chicken noodle soup?"

"With the little noodles?"

"Yes, it's the kind you like with the little noodles. And I've got cherry jello cups."

"The pack with the orange?"

She deciphered this question as well. "Yes, I have cherry and orange."

"I don't like the orange," said Ferb.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not going to make you eat them," she indulged him, heading for the kitchen.

"Tastes like baby aspirin," Ferb grumbled, referring to the orange jello.

"I will eat the orange jello, Ferb. Don't worry about it."

"Mmf," said Ferb.

Vanessa really was going to have to call Linda and ask her if Ferb was always like this when he ran a fever. She made him the soup and a fresh cup of tea, and he sat at the table and ate while she downed a tuna sandwich and some yogurt. When he was finished, she asked him if he wanted to go back to the couch or to bed, and he opted for the couch. Vanessa got Ferb settled with his blanket and the TV remote, a box of tissues and a trash can. She made sure he had his cell phone within reach and told him to call her if he needed anything. "I'm taking off early; I'll be home a little after 2, okay? Try to get some rest." She kissed his forehead again and left.

A couple of hours later, Vanessa walked back into the bungalow. The couch was empty, the blanket tumbled onto the floor. She was just processing this sight when she heard the unpleasant sounds coming from the bathroom. _Oh, dear…_

Ferb was hunched over the toilet, his heavy breathing punctuated by a ragged cough. He looked up at her, red-faced, eyes and nose dripping, and groaned out, "I got sick."

"Oh, baby…" Vanessa's heart went out to him. Flying to his aid, she put the tissue box where he could reach it, and ran cold water on a wash cloth. Sitting back on his heels, Ferb wiped and blew his nose and Vanessa flushed the toilet. "Come here, sweetie," she crouched beside him and gently wiped his face with the cool cloth. Handing it over to him, she got up and ran a paper cup of water from the sink and offered that. "Just to rinse out," she directed, and he did as he was told. Kneeling again, Vanessa combed her fingers through his hair then laid her hand on his back and rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades. "Think you're all done?" she asked sympathetically, and he nodded. "All right," Vanessa helped him up. "Let's get you into bed."

It would have been somewhat easier to move him if he hadn't been six-foot-one, she thought, but he still had enough of his own steam to drag himself back to the bedroom with just an arm around her shoulders for support. Seated on the bed, he looked up at her helplessly, as if he didn't know what to do next, and she smoothed his hair and said, "My poor baby. Come on," she picked up the yellow pajamas from where she had left them that morning. "Get into your jammies." Vanessa winced; had she actually just used the word _jammies_? Oh, well, Ferb was giving her good practice for when they eventually had kids. Now he was trying to wrestle his way out of his T-shirt, and whimpered when he got it wrapped around his head. "Whoa, slow down," Vanessa got hold of him and helped him out. She helped him get changed the rest of the way, and said, "Don't button up, I want to put some more Mentho-Rub on you." From the way he was looking vaguely down at himself, she doubted he could have done up his own buttons if he'd tried.

When she came back with the rub, Ferb lamented, "It's stuffy in here, I can't breathe. And I'm freezing."

Vanessa felt the shivers go through him as she smeared his chest, and said, "We'll get you tucked in in just a minute. There we go." She buttoned him up and got him under the blankets.

Settling into the pillow, Ferb blinked at her drowsily and remarked, as if this thought had just occurred to him, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Vanessa kissed his cheek and stroked his hair. "Get some sleep, and I'll be here when you wake up."

Ferb slept, and woke, and slept again. Vanessa dosed him with more of the vile syrup, and this time he took it with a minimum of complaint. In the evening, she brought him a little tea and toast and cherry jello, and it stayed down without any trouble. Ferb was fast asleep when she finally crept in beside him and closed her own eyes. Around three in the morning, Vanessa was awakened by him thrashing around, kicking off the covers, and she turned over to find him sitting up, clammy with sweat.

"You all right?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"I think my fever broke," Ferb answered. His voice was still hoarse, but his enunciation was vastly improved. "Ughhh," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had the most bizarre dream."

"If it was about you throwing up and fussing about your medicine, that wasn't a dream," said Vanessa, glad to see him on the mend.

"No," he shook his head, not reacting to the humor in her tone. "It was something to do with falling into a river… and there were piranhas. They ate my shoes. Then the toxic waste killed them, but it turned my hair brown. Then I woke up." Ferb looked at Vanessa. "I think I owe you an apology."

"What for?" she sat up, as well.

"Well, it's all a bit blurry, but I know I can be rather insufferable when I have a fever." Ferb managed a little smile. "Thank you for looking after me. I'm not an easy patient."

"Are you kidding?" Vanessa smiled back at him and with a playful roll of her eyes, she groused, "You should see my Dad when he's sick! Next to him, Ferb, you were a piece of cake."

THE END

**A/N - Shoutout to BroadwayFanGirl91: Thanks again for Ferb's needle-phobia, and yeah, I couldn't resist using the piranhas and toxic waste.**


	6. 6: Serenade

**A/N – OK, don't panic, the final chapter of "Rhode Island Fletcher" is coming, I just still have a bit of tweaking to do on it and I need some sleep before I finish it.**

**Meanwhile, here's another bit of fluff I've cooked up for the Sketchbook. I've wanted for a while to give my take on where Charlene's money came from, and I'm actually setting up a little something here that may resurface down the road. As usual, there are callbacks to others of my stories. I'm working from the premise that Ferb knows – and likes – a _lot_ of different kinds of music. You already know what belongs to Povenmire and Marsh. There will be more credits at the end.**

Serenade

Ferb Fletcher inched his classic '50s coupe up the steep driveway, and Vanessa punched the button on her garage door remote. As the door glided up, she noted, "Looks like Mom's still gone."

"You're certain she won't mind?" asked Ferb.

"No, pull on in," Vanessa insisted. "If she gets home before you leave, she can park in the drive."

Ferb felt a little awkward about taking up half of Ms. Doofenshmirtz's garage, but leaving his chrome and steel baby hanging on the side of the hill was too nerve-wracking to contemplate. He had restored and tricked out the car himself, and had been driving it for only about five months. Ferb was the first to admit that he was a somewhat over-protective parent – but what sixteen year old boy wasn't, when it came to his first set of wheels? He pulled in and parked next to Vanessa's beige compact, and they both got out. Ferb grabbed their gear out of the trunk, and followed Vanessa inside.

"You can dump that in the utility room," she offered, referring to the bulky hiking pack. Tossing the smaller sling bag over her shoulder, she added, "I'm going to run this upstairs. I'll be right back."

"Mind if I use the washroom?" Ferb asked.

"Help yourself. And you're welcome to grab a drink from the fridge," Vanessa added, as her voice faded away somewhere above him.

The house, he had noted before, was highly unusual. It was architecturally striking, but not very practical, with multiple levels connected by a ridiculous amount of stairs. Granted, the hilltop perch allowed for a splendid view of the surrounding area, and there were multiple outdoor decks and picture windows to take advantage of it. The gleaming, contemporary kitchen was open to an airy dining space marked by a large, curved window, and Ferb paused there for a minute to see if his house was visible from this vantage point. Giving up, he went to take a look in the refrigerator and spied a case of diet cherry cola, from which he took a can.

"Oh, good, you found it," said Vanessa, coming into the kitchen. "Mom asked me what you liked."

"I noticed some apple juice boxes in there, too," he remarked, with a teasing smile. Several years ago, Vanessa had confessed to him her secret fondness for the sweet drink, and he was amused to see she hadn't yet outgrown it.

"Yeah," she grinned, turning an adorable shade of pink. "Toss me one of those, will you?" Poking around in the pantry, she pulled out a plastic bag. "Want a bagel?"

"No, thank you." Ferb opted not to toss the juice box, but set it on the counter.

"Is there some cream cheese in there?" she asked, while he still had the refrigerator open.

He looked. "Honey Nut or Garden Vegetable?"

"Honey. You're sure you don't want something?" she prompted, taking a plate from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer. "Sandwich, banana, cheese and crackers, bowl of cereal...?"

Ferb chuckled. "No, honestly, I'm not hungry."

"Well," Vanessa noted with a sidelong smile, loading up her bagel with the sweetened cream cheese, "you know what hiking does to my appetite. Here," she reached a tumbler down from the cabinet. "You can at least have a glass and some ice for your drink."

The day trip to Danville National Park had been Vanessa's idea. She had been in Danville all week for Spring Break, and she and Ferb had spent quite a bit of time together. There had been a picnic in his back yard, dinner at her mother's, lunch at Goldie's Diner. There had been a matinee at the movie theatre, an outdoor concert in the park, and a trip to the Super-Duper MegaStore. What there hadn't been was the opportunity for much in the way of genuine 'alone time,' until Vanessa had proposed an excursion to the Great Outdoors. A few hours of communing with nature had turned out to be a brilliant idea, and Ferb was only sorry she hadn't thought of it earlier in the week.

Now, they sat together at the dining table while Vanessa devoured her bagel, and Ferb sipped at his glass of soda. Looking around at the sleek décor, Ferb ventured, "Vanessa… there's something I've been curious about. You're welcome to tell me this is none of my business," he assured her, "but… what, exactly, does your mother do?"

"Well," she wiped a dab of cream cheese from her lips, "she's on the board of the Tri-State Area Arts Coalition, and she helps organize the Danville Literacy Council Book Drive every year, not to mention the cooking classes and the karate lessons and the mah jongg club. But I'm guessing that wasn't the real question. You're wondering where the money came from."

Ferb worried for a moment that he might have touched a nerve, but there was a twinkle in Vanessa's eyes as she said exactly what he'd been thinking, and he admitted, "Well, yes."

"Believe it or not – laundry soap." Vanessa slurped at her juice box before she explained. "She and my dad didn't have much when they started out. He was trying to invent things, and she was working as a secretary when I was little. Dad was always messing with chemicals and blowing things up, and his lab coats ended up with the weirdest stains that would _not_ come out. Mom started experimenting in the kitchen sink, until she came up with this super stain-dissolving formula that worked on anything. Dad wanted to use it for evil," Vanessa rolled her eyes, "or at least package it and start selling it door to door – which is pretty much the same thing," she cracked. "But Mom didn't want to mess with running a business, so she got a patent on the formula and sold it to the KleenStart detergent company. They paid her a bunch of money up front, plus she gets royalties."

"Very enterprising of her," Ferb nodded appreciatively.

"Yeah," Vanessa sighed. With downcast eyes, she said, "That was kind of step one toward the divorce, I think. Not that there weren't issues before that, but…"

"That's when the money battles started?" Ferb surmised. Vanessa had told him, when they had first started dating, how her parents had fought over their finances, and how she feared falling into the same trap.

She nodded slightly, still not meeting his eyes, and Ferb said, "We don't have to talk about this. I didn't mean to…"

"It's all right," she assured him. "I want us to be totally open with each other." Vanessa took another bite of her bagel and munched thoughtfully before she went on. "That's why Dad gets alimony. He argued in the divorce that, if it weren't for him, she never would have thought of inventing the stuff in the first place. He has a point, you know. I feel kind of bad for my Dad sometimes," she admitted. "I mean, I know he's kind of crazy and annoying, not to mention evil, but Mom gets rich, and Uncle Roger gets to be Mayor, and what does he get?"

Ferb was quiet for a minute, searching for a reassuring word. At length, he said, with a solemn face, "He gets to battle a platypus in a fedora. Not many people can say that."

Vanessa gave him her _You cannot be serious_ look, then surrendered to the chuckle she could no longer contain. "Ferb, you always know just what to say." Finishing off her bagel, she invited, "You want to go sit in the music room?"

"You have a music room?" He knew he hadn't seen a lot of the house, but this came as a surprise.

"That's what Mom calls it." Vanessa carried her plate to the sink and dropped her juice box in the trash. "Come on."

The Music Room had an even better view than the dining space, and was dominated by a glossy black grand piano. Ferb let out an involuntary gasp at the sight of it, and Vanessa smiled. "I thought you might be interested."

"Do you play?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she shook her head. "My mother plays a little, but it's mostly just for show. I can pick out a few things by ear. Mom made me take lessons for a year when I was nine, but I didn't stay with it. I got tired of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,'" she grumbled. "I take it you play," Vanessa said, with an encouraging look.

"Oh, I like to mess about a bit," Ferb demurred modestly.

"Mm-hm," she smiled. "I've heard how you 'mess about' with a guitar, and a harmonica, and a few other things. Come on, sit down," she perched on the edge of the piano bench. "Play something for me."

Her request sent a little rush of shyness through him as he sat down beside her. "What would you like to hear?"

"Oh, anything. Surprise me."

Well, that wasn't much help. He started out by making a joke of it. "I'm afraid Scraping Fangs and Cracking Toast don't translate well to the piano." Vanessa gave a soft little laugh at this, and Ferb ran his fingers tentatively over the keys, coaxing forth a few chords, picking out a few threads of melody. He experimented with a few bars of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, and the Habanera from Carmen, but he wasn't certain how fond Vanessa was of classical music – a funny thing not to know about her, he pondered, considering how close they had become. She did like his _Britishness_, as she put it, and this knowledge led him to consider a smattering of "Poor Wand'ring One," or "Three Little Maids from School," but Gilbert and Sullivan seemed a bit too quaint. Of course, there was one British thing, musically speaking, that practically everyone liked, including Ferb, and he finally felt himself growing comfortable as he fell into the opening chords of his favorite Beatles song.

Almost at once, he felt Vanessa leaning closer to him, her head bobbing slightly to the tempo. Only a bit farther in, and he could hear her softly humming along, then the words began to form, and her lovely voice nestled gently into his ear.

"Hey, Jude, don't be afraid.  
>You were made to go out and get her.<br>The minute you let her under your skin,  
>Then you'll begin to make it better…"<p>

Ferb smiled as he continued to play, and Vanessa sang, slipping her arm around him and snuggling against his shoulder. "Come on, Ferb, you know the words," she nudged him. "Help me out, here."

"Oh, heavens," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm no Paul McCartney."

"Of course not," Vanessa kissed his cheek. "You're Ferb Fletcher, and I want to hear you sing."

Ferb swore he would never understand why Vanessa thought he could sing. Oh, he could carry a tune, but not with any polish; his singing voice wasn't much different from his speaking voice, and he was far more comfortable lip-synching to a recording, delivering the dance moves and the style while a real vocalist took care of the hard part. He shook his head again. "You're the singer, I'm just the piano player."

In the end, however, she was bound to win. Not only because Ferb could deny her nothing she desired, but because it was impossible not to chime in once it came down to, "Naaaaa na na nanananaaaaaaa – Nanananaaaaaaa – Hey, Jude…" The two of them belted their hearts out as he thundered away at the piano and Vanessa took his shoulders in her hands and made him sway back and forth with her in time to the music. At last, they both dissolved into giggles, then she kissed him, and he got an arm around her and kissed her back, and there was a bit of smooch-and-nuzzle between them before Ferb said, "All right, you asked for this. Give me a little elbow room. And prepare to cover your ears."

He doodled about on the piano for a bit until he was satisfied with the key. With an adoring gaze at his lady love, Ferb announced, "This is a little something just for you, Miss Doofenshmirtz." Then, humming a bit in his throat, he shifted the key one more time, vamped a little longer than he really needed to, and finally plunged in.

"You do something to me,  
>Something that simply mystifies me.<br>Tell me, why should it be  
>You have the power to hypnotize me?<br>Let me live 'neath your spell.  
>Do do that voodoo that you do so well.<br>For you do something to me  
>That nobody else could do."<p>

He finished off the song with a flourish of the keys, and Vanessa, eyes gleaming, breathed out a delighted sigh. "Ferb, that was wonderful!"

Ferb smiled at the rush of joy that coursed through him when her lips found his cheek. "Well," he murmured, "even I can't make Cole Porter sound bad."

THE END

**A/N – "You Do Something To Me" is by Cole Porter. It's been used on some recent Oreo cookie commercials, but I knew it before that, and it struck me as perfect for Ferb's feelings toward Vanessa. "Hey, Jude" is my favorite Beatles song, and I think one of the greatest "sing along" songs ever. I hope someone got the joke behind Ferb's "I'm no Paul McCartney" line.**


	7. 7: To Dye For

**A/N – A fun little idea I've had kicking around for a while. **

To Dye For

Vanessa Fletcher glanced over her shoulder when she heard the footsteps come into her kitchen. Her immediate, instinctive reaction to the sight that met her eyes was, _Who is this teenage girl I've never seen before and what is she doing in my house?_ In a flash, she realized exactly who it was, and her eyes went round with shock, just an instant before the Strange Teenage Girl said, "Hi, Mum."

"Felicia Winifred Fletcher, what on earth have you done to yourself!"

Vanessa's brow narrowed and her jaw clenched as her not-quite-fifteen year old daughter smiled blithely and said, "Do you like it?"

"No, I don't like it!" Tossing the dish towel in the sink, she advanced on the girl. Reaching out to take a lock of Felicia's long hair in her fingertips, Vanessa stared at it, aghast, and demanded, "What were you thinking?"

"I know it's different," Felicia was irksomely unfazed by her mother's ranting, "but I think it turned out all right. I did it myself," she added proudly. "I went to the Beauty Supply store to get the good stuff; took me forever to decide on a color."

Vanessa shook her head in a daze. Did her child not comprehend the enormity of this? "You dyed your hair!"

Felicia's expression clearly said, _Duhhh_, but at least she had sense enough not to utter the word.

"Your beautiful green hair!" Vanessa suddenly felt a tear forming in the corner of her eye as she murmured, "How could you?"

The girl took a step back and puffed out an annoyed little breath. "Why are you freaking out about it? It matches yours."

"It's not supposed to match mine! It's supposed to match your father's! What is your father going to say when he sees this?" she scolded. That was what hurt; Vanessa had always been so happy that their daughter had inherited Ferb's unique hair color. Seeing her willfully abandon it felt like a slap in the face.

"He won't mind," Felicia argued. "He'll be glad I'm expressing my individuality."

"Dyeing your hair brown is not expressing your individuality," Vanessa retorted. "You look just like everyone else."

"That's the idea!" Felicia snapped, fists clenched at her sides in frustration. "I'm tired of all the comments about my _hair_. How often do I _mow_ it? Do I use weed killer for my dandruff? Which I do _not_ have, thank you very much."

This confession softened her mother's heart, and Vanessa stroked a tender hand over her little girl's shoulder. "Oh, sweetie…" Turning, she drew a chair out from the kitchen table for Felicia, and took a seat, herself. When they were both settled, she explained, as gently as she could. "Baby, there are always going to be mean people who say things that hurt. If it's not about your hair, it's about your clothes, or the books you read, or the scooter your dad drives," she half-grinned, half-winced at this last example. "You can't let them control your life. Felicia, you are beautiful and special and you should be proud of who you are…"

"Mu-um," the girl groaned, "I don't need some sappy feel-good lecture."

"You're right," Vanessa conceded, with a disgusted half-smile. "That was pretty sappy. But I hate to see you give up your green hair."

"Jeana Carter says it's _abnormal_."

"I thought you stopped caring what Jeana Carter thought in fifth grade," Vanessa reminded her.

"Ms. Davis in Math says it's attention-seeking and I'm Oppositional-Defiant or something," Felicia glowered, rolling her eyes.

"I'll write Ms. Davis a note," Vanessa promised. "She probably just doesn't believe it's natural."

Felicia let out a plaintive sigh and put her chin in her hand. "Philip Milligan said green hair was _kookalaka_."

"What does that even mean?" Vanessa wondered, brow furrowed in baffled amusement.

"I don't know," her daughter groaned. "Some of the older kids have started making up these crazy words."

"Well, if you don't know what it means, how do you know it's not a good thing?" said the Voice of Motherly Wisdom. "And who is Philip Milligan?"

"He's this boy."

Vanessa smiled. She had no trouble at all translating those words. And she strongly suspected that Philip Milligan's opinion was the only one that really mattered. "Well," she conceded, "what's done is done. If you think having brown hair will make things better, you'd might as well give it a try. I suppose it never did me any harm," she smiled.

llllllllllllll

Two days later, Vanessa came home from work to find her brunette daughter in a full-blown frenzy.

"Mum! You have to help me fix my hair! I have to get the dye out!"

"What brought this on?" she questioned, bowled over by Felicia's agitation.

"I found out what _kookalaka_ means, and you were right," Felicia groaned. "He _liked_ it!"

THE END

**A/N – In the "Tri-Stone Area" episode, "Cantok" makes "Fumfa" (fire), and "Jerebunk" tells her "Fumfa kookalaka," obviously impressed with her. I love that episode so much (and have watched it so many times) that when I needed a nonsense word to mean "cool/neat/awesome," I decided to use that.**


	8. 8: A Matter of Perspective

**A/N – A Fluffy Little Drabble that popped into my head. I thought of holding on to it for use in something bigger, but it logically belongs in the context of "Warming Up"/"Cooling Down" (don't worry, it's completely innocent). Anyway, I thought I'd just toss it out here.**

A Matter of Perspective

Vanessa planted one more playful kiss on Ferb's cheek before she slipped off of his lap and stood up. Getting up from the couch, himself, Ferb turned toward her and held out a hand – then froze, his head tilted at a thoughtful angle.

"Are you all right?" Vanessa asked, with a little chuckle at his expression.

Surprised by the discovery he had just made, Ferb took a step toward her, gently taking her by the shoulders and positioning the two of them face to face. _Of course_, he thought, glancing at her feet in their fuzzy purple socks. Why had he never realized?

When he said nothing, she reached up and straightened the collar of his shirt as she teased, "Um, Earth to Ferb…?"

A faint smile shaped his mouth as he said, in a tone of quiet wonder, "You're so tiny."

"What does that mean?" Vanessa huffed, feigning offense with an amused twist of her lips.

"I've always thought of you as tall," Ferb explained. Indeed, six years ago, when he had first encountered her, she had appeared an Amazonian goddess to his eyes, and even as he had met and surpassed her in height, that impression had stayed with him. Now, he realized that she was almost petite, and he found her more charming than ever.

"I am tall!" she insisted, then qualified this statement with a resigned sigh. "In my boots." Looking up at him, she added, "And you used to be a lot shorter."

"Yes," Ferb smiled. "Yes, I did." Regarding her with a tender look, he decided, "But, I think I prefer this perspective."

THE END

**A/N – This came out of the realization that, while Candace and Vanessa usually appear comparable in height, Vanessa is always in her high-heeled boots in contrast to Candace's flat shoes. I liked the idea of Vanessa not being quite as tall as we – or Ferb – might think she is.**


	9. 9: Tattoo

**A/N – Inspired by remarks in the recent episode, "Minor Monogram," about Vanessa apparently wanting a tattoo. This takes place between "Caller" and "Hitting," #10 and #11 of my "Vignettes a la Carte." Povenmire & Marsh own the characters. BroadwayFanGirl91 came up with Ferb's needle-phobia (so thanks, again, to her!).**

Tattoo

"You have her back here by nine o'clock!" Vanessa's father warned. "And no joyriding! I've seen that hot rod of yours!"

"We'll be back after the movie," Vanessa informed him, as if he hadn't said a thing. "Don't wait up."

Ferb's hand was entwined with hers, and she was tugging him toward the door. Turning back to face the scowling Dr. Doofenshmirtz, he managed to blurt out, "Good evening, sir. It was a pleasure to see you again." Then Vanessa was steering him into the hall and pulling the apartment door closed behind them, and Ferb let out a deep breath, thankful to have escaped with his life.

"That went well," said Vanessa. This did not appear to be sarcasm. When she saw Ferb's skeptical look, she insisted, "He likes you! Or, at least he doesn't hate you."

"How can you tell?" Ferb muttered, still feeling a bit shaky.

"If he hated you, he'd be treating you like his new best friend, telling me how wonderful you are, how happy he is that I've finally found the right guy." The elevator door opened, and they stepped into the car. She must have detected some confusion in his expression, because she explained, "It's a reverse psychology thing."

Ferb gave a slight nod of understanding and seized the opportunity to direct his eyes downward. Vanessa had put on a dress and a pair of sleek pumps for their First Official Dinner and a Movie Date tonight, and it had not occurred to him before now that he had only ever seen her in pants or boots or something that covered her legs. His gaze had been snared by a bloom of crimson, low on the outside of her left calf, and now that he had a chance to study it, he saw that it was a tattoo: A ripe red rose, the color of her lips, with a curling black stem that trailed down around the bone of her ankle. The effect was delicate and alluring and sent a little quiver through him.

Vanessa was telling him about the glowing reviews she had read for the movie she had chosen for them, when the elevator reached the lobby and the doors slid open. At this point, she finally looked in his direction and noticed his downcast eyes. "What's wrong?" she looked down at herself.

"Absolutely nothing," murmured Ferb, with an embarrassed smile at having been caught. "I never knew you had a tattoo."

"Yeah," she turned her leg slightly to show it off. "I got it as soon as I turned eighteen. Sort of an, 'I'm an adult now and you can't tell me what to do' thing."

"I don't suppose your father was amused," Ferb speculated.

"Actually, once I had it, he was fine. Mom's the one who still rolls her eyes at it."

As they walked out of the building, Ferb said, "I like it. It suits you."

He opened the passenger side door of his car and held it for her as she got in. Once he was behind the wheel and they were heading out, Vanessa said off-handedly, "You should get one."

_Not bloody likely_, was Ferb's immediate thought, but he was too considerate of her feelings to voice this.

When he said nothing, however, Vanessa clarified, "A tattoo," as if he hadn't understood her.

Ferb made a vague, noncommital sound in his throat in reply.

Again, she was quiet for a bit, leaving the door open for him to say something, before she remarked, "You'd look cool."

He shot her a swift glance before returning his eyes to the traffic.

"Not that you don't look cool already," Vanessa scrambled to reassure him in response to this. "But, a tattoo – " From the corner of his eye, Ferb caught her softly suggestive smile, "It'd be kind of sexy."

The prospect of Vanessa regarding him as _sexy_ was certainly tempting, but what she wanted was impossible.

"Maybe like a Union Jack," she was musing. "Right here." Her finger traced a vague circle on the upper left side of her chest.

"What?" Ferb could not resist commenting. "No heart with an arrow through it and a ribbon that says 'Vanessa'?"

"That would have to go here," she reached over and touched the outside of his arm, making him grip the steering wheel more tightly. "So everyone could see it."

"You'll have me looking like the Illustrated Man," Ferb protested.

"Hey, the Heart that says Vanessa was your idea," she teased.

He grinned a little, but fell quiet again for a block or two before he said, "Vanessa, I love you, and I would do _almost_ anything for you, but I'm afraid a tattoo is out of the question."

"Oh, I know," she conceded, and he wondered for a moment if she had somehow discovered his secret. But no, she made a different assumption. "Your parents would freak out."

The reminder that he was barely sixteen hit Ferb like a punch to the gut. He knew Vanessa didn't mean it hurtfully, and he held his tongue as he made the turn onto Adjacent Avenue and kept an eye out for Chez Antoine. His thoughts must have shown, however, because there was a certain tenderness to her voice as she encouraged, "Maybe in a couple of years, huh?"

Ferb eased into a parking spot and shut off the engine. As Vanessa unfastened her seat belt, he spoke up. "My parents aren't the problem."

She paused in reaching for the door handle, and turned her face toward him, her inquisitive look giving him a nudge to go on.

His explanation came out as, "I'm not overly fond of needles."

"Who is?" she remarked, with a sympathetic chuckle. "I know; I was kind of nervous when I got mine, but it's really not that bad."

"No, you don't understand," said Ferb quietly. "I have a – rather large phobia of needles. Never mind being jabbed, myself, just being around them – even watching someone else get a shot, or have blood drawn…" He couldn't suppress the shudder that went through him, and he averted his eyes in shame. "Frankly, I'm feeling a bit sick just talking about it."

Vanessa reached out and laid her hand on his. It was the same, familiar, comforting gesture he had known from her for years, going all the way back to when he was ten and she had asked about his biological mother. Now she said, "Hey… it's all right."

"It's ridiculous," he muttered.

"Come on," she insisted, "we're all afraid of something. You know how I am about roller coasters. And bees. And clowns still creep me out." She gave his hand a squeeze, and when he looked at her, she smiled. "You don't need a tattoo, Ferb. You're hot enough already."

Ferb gave a little chuckle in response to this compliment and lifted Vanessa's fair hand to his lips in gratitude. "I hope you're hungry," he remarked, as they got out of the car. "And save room for dessert; I hear they're famous for their _mousse au chocolat_."

"Mmm, you know what I like," said Vanessa, looping her arm through his as they walked toward the restaurant.

A warm glow spread through him at the gesture, and Ferb contemplated how lucky he was, to have won the affections of this amazing woman. Perhaps there _was_ something he could do that would please – or at least amuse – her. Oh, he would never submit to the needle, not even for the love of his life. But, it occurred to him now that there were such things as temporary tattoos. And a Union Jack shouldn't be too hard to find. Ferb's mouth curled into a private little smile as he held the restaurant door for Vanessa. Perhaps he would surprise her someday…

THE END

**A/N – Yeah, there's got to be a punch line for this somewhere down the road. We'll see… **


	10. At First Glance

**A/N – The momentous meeting from "I Scream, You Scream," from Vanessa's point of view. Characters all belong to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh.**

At First Glance

Blueprint Heaven. So this was where Blueprints went to die. A sort of Elephant's Graveyard for Blueprints. These were the morbid musings of Vanessa Doofenshmirtz as she headed toward the storefront on the opposite side of the street. She disliked running errands for her father, but the one thing that made it slightly better today was the knowledge that once she had picked up the plans for his new diabolical contraption, she would finally be able to prove to her mother that Dad was Evil. _How could Mom not know this?_ Vanessa marveled again. Seriously, he had actually named his company Doofenshmirtz EVIL Incorporated. What part of that did she not understand? Well, all that was about to change. Dad was going to be _so _busted!

Walking into the blueprint shop, Vanessa was dismayed to see someone ahead of her at the counter. She really wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, and now she was stuck waiting behind some kid. The first thing she noticed about him was the bright green hair. What sort of parents let their kid dye his hair green? And why couldn't they have been _her_ parents?

Whatever he wanted, the clerk seemed to be having a hard time finding it; the woman was up a ladder digging through racks of rolled up paper. What did a kid that young want with blueprints anyway? Hm, she mused, maybe his dad was an Evil Scientist, too. There were a few others around Danville; her father ranted about them now and then, some guy named Rodney, and a Doctor Dim-something… Maybe the green hair was the result of a backfired experiment. Vanessa wondered if her father had ever considered a Dye-your-hair-green-inator, although she had to admit, she couldn't see much of an evil purpose for it.

Vanessa walked up to the counter just as the clerk located what she was looking for and came back with the plans in a tube.

"You're in luck; I found one," the clerk told the boy, laying the tube in front of him. "Now, what do you need, sweetie?" she asked Vanessa.

_Sweetie? Really?_ She hated it when adults she didn't know called her sweetie, or sugar, or hon. It was condescending, especially since she was practically an adult, herself. She answered coolly, "I'm here to pick up an order for Doofenshmirtz." Vanessa pronounced it carefully, even though she knew it would do no good. Inevitably, the person she was talking to would repeat it back as "Toothenhurtz," or ask her to spell it, or just look confused and say, "Huh?" But, to her surprise, the blueprint woman actually understood her.

"Oh, yes. Your daddy just called." With that, the woman turned away to go fetch the plans she had set aside.

The green-haired kid was still standing beside her, his own blueprints laying untouched on the counter. Even without turning her head, Vanessa knew what he was doing. He was giving her _The Look_. The same look she'd been on the receiving end of ever since her curves had come in. She had found it annoying at first, until she had come to understand that being attractive to the opposite sex gave her a certain sort of power. Her aggressive all-black fashion sense added a layer of mystique and a certain _don't mess with me_ vibe that she wasn't afraid to use, especially when a guy came on too strong, or The Look came across as a leer. On the green-haired kid, though, The Look was more like a stunned gaze, as if he'd just at that moment realized that Girls Were Different Than Boys. It was really kind of sweet. _Aren't you a little young to be looking at girls that way?_ she was almost tempted to ask him, but instead she just tossed him a casual, "Hey, how's it goin'?"

Vanessa wasn't certain what she expected the kid to say in return, but most boys, young or old, would have seized the chance to get in some remark, try out some line on her, however lame or clumsy. But Green-Hair just stared at her a bit longer, until he blinked and averted his eyes. Maybe that backfired experiment had taken away his voice, too.

"Here you go, baby," said the clerk, as she put another tube of plans on the counter. Vanessa reached for her wallet, but the woman said, "No need for that, I just put it on your daddy's tab. You have a nice day, now!"

"Yeah, thanks," muttered the girl. The odd, green-haired kid hadn't moved, and Vanessa gave him a curious parting glance as she shoved the money back into her pocket and picked up the blueprints. Heading out the door, she felt a little spring in her step and a touch of lightness in her heart. _Watch out, Dad._ The thought put a determined smile on her lips. _This time, you are busted for sure!_

THE END

**A/N – I've had this one in mind for a long time, and I hope you all saw what just happened. I just thought that would make a cute little twist.**


	11. 11: Drained in the Brain

**A/N – A bit of silliness inspired by the episode "Brain Drain." Dan & Swampy own everything, including the dialogue. I will get back to "Thumbs Down," but haven't had a lot of time for writing lately, and just really needed to do something trivial.**

Drained in the Brain

"Ferb!" Baljeet complained in an accusatory tone. "Did you let me win to save my fragile nerdy ego?"

"Oh, I'd never do that," the green-haired lad replied. It was the absolute truth; Baljeet's ego had nothing to do with it. Ferb would have preferred to spend his sick day lounging in bed with a good book, but of course Phineas had to _do_ something. So, here he was, roped into playing a video game with his brother and their friends. The matches and re-matches were bound to go on for hours, but all he had to do was surrender the first round to Baljeet, and perhaps he could be miserable in peace for a while.

Ferb disliked being sick. The coughing and snorting, the scratchy throat, the stuffy ears, the general sense of fatigue – but most of all he dreaded the mind-numbing feeling of running a fever. Luckily, today's was a low grade one, so he was still coherent, but to this day his father told stories of how Ferb, at three, had run a temperature high enough to make him think he could fly out the window like a bird. And Ferb, himself, still recalled being sick enough at six that Mum had dunked him in a freezing cold bath to break that fever. He even shivered a bit at the wretched recollection, and hoped she would remember to get the cherry-flavored Mucus-B-Gone this time.

Phineas was battling Buford when the giant screen was consumed by static. "Uh-oh! Power surge," the red-head remarked. Then, just as quickly, the static cleared and the scene switched to a junkyard where a bipedal platypus wearing a strange helmet stood motionless. "No, wait! Ooh, a Perry level!" exclaimed Phineas. "Nice graphics."

Ferb knew that tone. It translated to, "Good job, bro." But he had never designed a 'Perry level' for the game – in fact, there was nothing in the game that he and Phineas hadn't created together.

"Okay, Perry the Platypus." From off screen came a raspy, Germanic voice, a voice that Ferb knew. In fact, it sounded a lot like the voice in the MegaStore that had called out, "Vanessa! Vanessa!" – his introduction to the beautiful name of the beautiful girl he adored. A new figure entered the game, an odd-looking man in a lab coat, with a pointed nose and a slouching posture. Ferb blinked. The character on the screen even _looked_ like Vanessa's father. At least, as nearly as Ferb could recall. "All charged up and ready to…" The man poked at a remote control clutched in his hands and griped, "Oh, great. Now what's wrong with it?"

A video game character inspired by their pet, Ferb could imagine. But why on earth would he – or anyone else – have put Vanessa's father into the game? And Phineas was right, the graphics were superb, far more realistic than anything they had generated. Now, Perry's arm shot stiffly outward and the man in the lab coat said, "I didn't do that."

"I did that!" Phineas realized, working his game pad. "But I only seem to have control of his left arm."

"Let me try!" Isabella chimed in, thumbs working. "Cool! I've got control of his left leg!"

Perry appeared surprised and distraught by this discovery – the animation was disturbingly lifelike, thought Ferb – then Buford declared, "I've got control of his right arm." Ferb winced as Buford made the platypus's right hand smack into his bill. "Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself? Hah hah hah…"

"Ferb's got right leg," announced Phineas. It was true; Ferb stared wide-eyed at the screen, lifting his own leg as Perry mimicked the movement.

"Oh, I have got back and forth!" This was Baljeet, expressing excitement at such an important role.

In front of him, larger than life, Ferb saw the lab coat man – he was certain that was exactly how he remembered Vanessa's father – working his own remote in frustration. "What's wrong with him? Stop it! Stop it!"

"What is the goal of this game?" Baljeet questioned.

"I'm not sure," said Phineas, as the lab coat man tried to stomp on Perry.

Ever to the point, Buford blurted out, "Who cares? Let's just fight that old pharmacist."

_Why would anyone create a video game about a platypus fighting a pharmacist?_ Ferb's head was spinning with ever more baffling questions. _And why would the platypus be called Perry, and why would he look like OUR Perry – well, our Perry if he ever actually did anything – and why would the pharmacist look like Vanessa's father – well, at least, how I remember Vanessa's father – then again, perhaps I'm reading too much into this; I suppose any man in a lab coat might remind me of Vanessa's father. I suppose I could relate practically anyone back to Vanessa, I spend so much time thinking about her, it's like one of those so-many-degrees-of-separation games…_

"Sure," Phineas agreed. "This must be the Boss Level."

_But we didn't build a Boss Level into this game. Unless… the game is somehow reading our thoughts… perhaps that's why he looks like Vanessa's father… I wonder if she'll turn up, as well… that could be dreadfully embarrassing… _

"All right, guys, we work as a team on this one," commanded Phineas.

_We're using Perry to beat up Vanessa's father._ This was making Ferb's head ache. He followed Phineas's instructions almost subconsciously. None of this was making sense. Where was the thermometer? His fever must have been higher than he had realized. _I'm pummeling my future father-in-law in a video game. He's never going to forgive me._

"Finish him off, Ferb!"

Surrendering to the insanity of it all, Ferb flicked the game controls, planting a webbed platypus foot right in the seat of the man's pants, sending him flying over the hill of garbage. _You've still got it, old chap,_ he congratulated himself, symbolically blowing off his controller.

Thank goodness it was only a game.

THE END

**A/N – No one else would know who Doof is, but it seems to me that Ferb should notice the "Old Pharmacist's" resemblance to Vanessa's father.**


	12. 12: It's Not Just the Toothpaste

**A/N – Inspired by a pet peeve of mine. I am amazed by the amount of choice language I hear at work and frankly it gets on my nerves, so I'm using Vanessa and Ferb to vent about it. Oh, and yeah, I'm still here; I've just had a lot of distractions and need to get back in the habit of writing.**

It's Not Just the Toothpaste

"_Blast!_" Ferb Fletcher was an instant too late in pulling his fingers out from under the modular shelving unit. Wincing, he jerked his hand free and shook it to cool the pain.

"Are you okay?" asked Vanessa, who had set down her side of the cabinet without incident.

Ferb shoved his pinched fingertips into his mouth.

"Here, let me see," she reached out to him.

He waved her off with his good hand to let her know he was fine, but persisted in shaking and blowing on his fingers as he muttered, "Ungh, blasted thing…"

"I'm a medical professional," Vanessa insisted, stepping in and taking him by the wrist.

"You're a pharmacist," Ferb's lips bent slightly upward as he qualified her statement.

"Yes. Yes, I am." She raised his hand for a better look. Vanessa had completed her degree at the beginning of summer, at the same time Ferb had finished high school, and now, three months later, he was moving into her bungalow and preparing to start in the Engineering program at Ackerton State. She made a _tsk-tsk_ sound as she examined his fingers, but Ferb could see the sly smile dancing over her lips when her eyes met his. "And I know exactly what you need." Slipping her other hand into his palm, she proceeded to apply a gentle kiss to each fingertip. "Better?" she asked when she had finished.

In response, Ferb gave her a playfully pathetic look and used the index finger of his uninjured hand to tap his lips. Vanessa looked as if she had anticipated this request, and willingly applied the cure there as well. By the time she was done with him, Ferb was feeling no pain of any kind.

Patting his cheek, she remarked, "I'm so glad you have a clean mouth, Ferb. You have no idea."

"Well, I did brush my teeth this morning," he replied, surprised by the comment.

"I'm not talking about toothpaste," she corrected. "I swear, most of the guys I know can't get through two sentences without lobbing a couple of choice words. And it's not like they're mad or anything. It's like, 'I effing went to the effing store and bought some effity eff effing shoes.'" Vanessa rolled her eyes as she recounted this. "I just want to ask them, 'Do you even hear yourself?' And here you are, getting your fingers crushed, and all you say is, 'Oh, dash it all.'"

She did that adorable thing of lowering her voice and broadly mimicking Ferb's British accent and he had to chuckle at this before he protested, "I have been known to use the occasional expletive."

"'Bloody hell' is hardly an expletive," Vanessa shook her head at him.

"My grandmother would beg to differ," he insisted. Vanessa reacted to this with that particular groan of hers that said she thought he was picking an argument with her and she didn't want to play. Ferb had learned when to let up and soothed her by saying, "I'm glad you don't mind it, though."

He placated her with a kiss for good measure and when they parted, Vanessa nestled her head on his shoulder. With a happy sigh, she remarked, "Yeah, the toothpaste doesn't hurt, either."

THE END


	13. 13: Out of the Box

**A/N – One of my favorite P&F episodes is "My Fair Goalie," and I've wanted to do something with a certain object from that for a while. Where **_**did**_** that come from?**

**Ferb and Vanessa belong to Dan & Swampy.**

Out of the Box

Vanessa Doofenshmirtz was sitting on the floor of the Flynn-Fletcher basement, flipping through an old photo album. "Oh my gosh, Ferb, is this you?"

The young man in question craned his neck to see what she was looking at and cracked, "I'd think the green hair was a giveaway."

"You look so cute in your little tux," she cooed teasingly. The photos were from his parents' wedding, and Vanessa was looking in particular at one that showed the dapper four-year-old holding the hands of a pretty, red-haired bridesmaid. "Who's that you're dancing with?"

"Aunt Tiana. Mum's sister." Having satisfied her curiosity, he got to his feet and went in search of another carton of relics. "I thought you were helping me look for things I might want to take to Ackerton."

"Like what?" she asked, turning another page of the photo album.

"I don't know, things I might need for college?" Ferb was starting at Ackerton State University in the fall, and on top of that was moving into the little bungalow Vanessa was already renting near the campus. There had been some parental flapping around over this arrangement, but Ferb was eighteen and legally an adult, and had been quietly insistent that he and Vanessa would be living together regardless of any objections. He was fully prepared to put himself through university with the aid of scholarships, odd jobs and a couple of inventions, but his parents had no intention of withholding the College Fund they had started long ago for his education. Ferb's mother and Vanessa's mother were both still concerned that this unusual romance would somehow all end in tears, but were gradually accepting the fact that their babies were grown and would have to learn any unfortunate lessons for themselves.

Now, Vanessa put back the album where she had found it and scooted herself over to another carton promisingly marked with the single word, 'Ferb.' Prying apart the overlapping flaps, she looked inside. The box contained several trophies and medals, and a large envelope marked "Awards." There was a familiar yellow soccer jersey, a pair of very small bowling shoes, a well-worn baseball mitt, and in the bottom of the box, under a silver medallion in a plastic case, something Vanessa at first thought was a folded flag. When she took it in her hand for a closer inspection, however, she discovered that it was a spandex garment – a boy's unitard patterned with All-American stars and stripes. Holding it up by the shoulders, she regarded it with a smile of surprise and amusement.

"Ferb, what's this?"

He glanced over his shoulder, and she saw his cheeks flush red. His mouth wrenched into an embarrassed half-smile as he said, "Oh, that old thing."

When he gave no further explanation, she took a guess. "You did wrestling?"

"No," said Ferb. Vanessa's persistently inquisitive look forced the confession from him. "Acrobatics-slash-gymnastics."

_Acrobatics?_ From her lips burst a delighted chuckle that she didn't want to try to explain. Ferb really could do _everything_.

He came over and knelt by the open carton. "When I was young, I went to some sort of camp every summer, just for a few days. It was Mum's idea – it gave me a bit of breathing room. Let me do something just for myself. Baseball camp, banjo camp, debate camp. I did that when I was eight," he indicated the unitard. With a modest smile, Ferb fished the plastic case from the box and held it up for her inspection. "Silver medal on the rings."

With an admiring gaze, Vanessa shook her head. "There's nothing you can't do, is there?" Ferb's lips parted, but before he could protest, she stopped him. "And don't say 'sing.' Your voice is perfectly fine. And don't tell me you can't touch your ear with your tongue or – or juggle elephants, because no one can do that."

"Theoretically," he mused, "with the application of a few anti-gravity devices, elephant juggling is well within the realm of possibility."

"Don't change the subject," Vanessa warned. "I want you to tell me one thing you're not good at."

Ferb avoided her eyes as he reached out and retrieved the American flag unitard from her grasp. He folded it in silence before a tiny smile plucked at his lips and he ventured, "Saying 'no' to you?"

"That's not what I mean," she pressed stubbornly. "Admit it, Ferb Fletcher. There really isn't anything you're not good at."

Vanessa watched him closely as he replaced the unitard in his box of mementos and folded the flaps of the carton closed again. He got to his feet and brushed a little dust from his hands before he finally cast a sly, sidelong look down at her and said, "I'm afraid you'll have to find that out for yourself."

THE END

**A/N – **_**Is**_** there anything Ferb's not good at?**


	14. 14: Music to Her Ears

**A/N – Inspired by a musical moment in the new episode, "Troy Story." Everyone belongs to Dan & Swampy. Ferbnessa Forever!**

Music to Her Ears

"Finally!" Vanessa Doofenshmirtz muttered to herself as her little rosewood sedan zipped past the Danville City Limits sign. The drive from Ackerton had felt especially long this morning. Spring semester at the University had ended yesterday, and she had packed up for a quick weekend visit to her hometown. Dad had flapped around some about her not spending the entire three month break there, but Vanessa had a job she actually liked at the Olson's Supermarket pharmacy counter in Ackerton, not to mention the glorious solitude of the bungalow she was renting near the campus. Danville was still 'home' – but this bird had flown the nest, and bunking at Dad's – or Mom's – was something she could tolerate only in small doses these days.

Her foot attacked the accelerator as she merged onto the westbound lanes of the Tri-State Freeway. She could see the Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated building looming downtown, but she wasn't heading there. She wasn't even heading for her mother's elegant hillside home. There was someone else who was her top priority now, as he had been since their first date last Thanksgiving, and her soaring spirits blossomed into a smile as she turned the corner onto Maple Drive.

Not surprisingly, something was going on in the Flynn-Fletcher back yard. A craggy stone turret resembling the ruins of a medieval castle loomed over the suburban house, and as Vanessa pulled into the driveway, she spied over the fence a banner emblazoned with the words HIGHLAND GAMES. She could hear the sounds of cheering and revelry and over all that, a piercing wail that suggested the strangling of a goat. _Ugh, bagpipes?_ Vanessa rolled her eyes as she bravely stepped out of the car. Well, she supposed they were a requirement at any respectable Highland Games, but that didn't make them any less annoying. The noise always reminded her of her father's feud with a bagpipe-playing neighbor when she was sixteen, the incessant racket of the instrument, and even worse, the incessant racket of Dad's griping about it.

Walking through the gate, she took a quick survey of the grounds. A lot of familiar faces were still coming around for these famous Ferb and Phineas get-togethers. Buford appeared to be going for a world record at the caber toss. Phineas and Isabella were engaged in a Highland Fling. And Baljeet was pestering Ginger to taste some haggis that probably had curry in it. Vanessa skimmed over these sights, seeking out a certain sweet, square-nosed face.

Without warning, her heart leapt, sending a surge of warmth from her cheeks to her toes. Before her stood a towering pillar of Scottish manhood, resplendent in the full regalia of the Clan Fletcher. The green-haired laddie in the kilts cradled his pipes under one arm, his skillful lips and nimble fingers coaxing from the instrument a lively tune that made her feet tingle. Ferb's eyes met hers and he fumbled a note or two as she saw that dazed, dreamy look wash over him, but he swiftly regained himself and dropped his sweetheart a beguiling wink. Delighted, Vanessa blew him a kiss as she skipped across the lawn to meet him.

Surely, she thought, there was no more enchanting music in the world than that of the bagpipes.

THE END

**A/N – "Bagpipe solo!" As soon as we saw Ferb in his kilts in last night's "Troy Story," I thought, oh, there's an inspiration for a Ferbnessa moment if ever I've seen one!**


End file.
